Give Me All Your Loving
by allboutyou
Summary: FrUk! name says it all... Francis treats Arthur with his body (yaoi!) boy x boy please do not flame!


Well I have been having some free time and decided to give a oneshot… hope you enjoy

Yaoi(boy x boy)

**Give Me All Your Loving**

Leading him on the terrace Francis scanned the horizon. Numerous couples were strolling, taking advantage of the mild night. The moon, a silverfish half disc, rode high bathing the scene in shimmering light. Francis glanced around yet again, and then wound his sweet Arthur in his arms.

"It's customary" he whispered, as if in answer to the question pent up in the Brits mind, "for couples to spend time together in conducive surroundings".

Arching his brow(s); Arthur scrunched up his nose pondering on what Francis said. He glanced up to the blond thinking, conductive to what? Francis stood there peering down at him sending a shiver down his spine.

"Do you think anyone has noticed yet?" Arthur asked blushing a bit. Francis did not answer but continued along the increasingly sparsely populated terrace; most couples remained within the area illuminated by the ballroom's light. At the terraces end, Francis cast a swift glance about then closed his hand hard over Arthurs; three long strides, drawing the quiet british man to him, and they were aside the mansion. Shallow steps led down, then the terrace continued beneath a loggia supporting a rioting white rose. Once beneath it they were screened from above, and from anyone on the terrace. The garden beyond the loggia was deserted, the room that gave onto it dark, not in use. They were alone. Private.

Francis halted drawing Arthur to face him. Arthur looked up, caught only the briefest glimpse of the man's face. Eyes opened to a slit, he bent his head and, one hand cradling Arthurs jaw, set his lips to the others.

Gently.

The fact penetrated Arthur's whirling mind; he'd braced for an assault. He'd been kissed before; in all his experiences combined he found that men tended to be greedy.

Not Francis.

Not that he doubted, not for one instant, that he would want, and would take, more, but he didn't grab, seize, demand. He lured. Touch by touch caress by caress. It was Arthur who moved into him, into the kiss. His hands shifted from Arthurs haw to his nape, long fingers hard against his sensitive skin. His other hand still grasped the Brits, fingers twining, locking.

His lips moved on his, subtly shifting, encouraging… unthinking, he parted his own; Francis surged in. Not aggressively, yet powerfully. His habit of slow grace seemed even more pronounced in this arena. Every movement was unhurried, languid, yet laced with absolute mastery. Arthur shivered, realized how completely Francis captured him—his wits, his senses. He couldn't see couldn't hear—was distant from the world and had no wish to go back, no wish to be distracted from the sneer wonder of the kiss. As if he understood, Francis angled his head and pressed deeper, drew Arthur with him.

Excitement shimmered through Arthur. His heart sped at alarming rates. The intimacy touched him; he found himself eagerly, wantonly, surrendering his mouth—pleasure coursed through him when Francis took. Claimed. That was what Francis had wanted, intended to achieve his goal. He'd move to set his mark on Arthur, a first declaration, a preliminary statement of absolute intent.

Arthur was in absolute agreement. He'd set the scene, pieged his troth—now it was Arthurs turn. If he would. Squeezing his toes, he thought hard. He wasn't sure how to do it tentatively, he stepped nearer. His cotton white shirt brushed the taller man's coat. The steely tension holding him increased; the fingers at Arthur's nape tightened… with no inward shrug, he boldly kissed Francis back.

And Francis froze.

Emboldened, Arthur set his free hand sliding up to Francis shoulder, then higher still to trace his lean cheek. He pressed another long, tempting kiss on him, then flicked his fingers free of his slackened grip, lifting that arm, he dropped it on his shoulder, slid his fingers into Francis silky hair—and stepped closer yet, kissed him more determinedly.

Francis arms closed around him. He didn't crush him, yet there was no disguising the possessiveness behind the act. Arthur twined his arms gently around his neck, but he didn't need to hold Francis to him; he offered his mouth. Again and again Francis took control, wrested it from him.

His next kiss curled Arthur's toes. Heat flooded him. Not in a searing rush but in a steady relentless tide. It poured down his veins, filled him up, took him over… he clung, and drank, felt his senses slide beneath the heating waves. Let himself sink against Francis, who was hard as steel beneath his elegant clothes, felt the vise of his arms close in. His languidness—always a veneer—had flown. Every kiss seemed deeper, stronger, like a current steadily eroding his ability to resist.

Francis didn't demand—he asked for no permission at all—but simply took, claimed, opened Arthurs eyes, ripped aside the veins, and showed him how far a simple kiss could go. Arthur was with him every step of the way. They stared a moment into each-other's eyes; blue pools mixing with green. Arthur could feel Francis shifting as their lips locked. His arms wound tight against him, locking Arthur against his chest.

Pulling away Francis moved away from the wall, dragging Arthur inside the mansion leading him straight to the stairway not bothering to give him a chance to look around at the moving couples. Flinging a door opened, Francis towed Arthur in, paused only to glance around to ensure no maid still lingered, then he heeled the door shut and Arthur came to his arms.

Being kissed—no Ravished.

Every link with reality was swept away in that first hot rush. Francis swept him off his toes. He was locked so hard against his steely frame, his arms banding him, he couldn't breathe—had to take his breath from him. Had to appease the greedy, hungry kisses, the starving urgency with which he kissed him; offered his mouth, surrendered tried to catch up—tried to orient.

Francis gave him no chance. He turned with him in his arms, took two steps, and set Arthur back against the door—trapped him there. He ravaged his mouth; grabbing hold, Arthurs fingers sinking into the rigid muscles of his upper arms, Arthur met him in a clash of tongues, in a hot world of whirling desire. Arthur flagrantly incited, urged Francis further—wanted more. Angling his hips, Francis pressed Arthur to the door, anchoring him as he drew back just enough to strip of his coat and fling it away. Arthur fell on his shirt, popping buttons in his haste, in his need to have his hands on Francis bare chest. Francis erection rode hard against Arthurs thighs; while Francis fingers were too busy with Arthurs wound up buttons.

Then Francis shirt was open; wrenched the halves wide and spread his hands all over Francis, over the acres of burning skin, sliding his fingers through the raspy curls. He devoured him with his hands while Francis devoured him with his mouth, while he conjured the hot, driving need between them, while he drew it up and set it free.

Let it rage.

Arthur was suddenly beyond urgent. Francis taking notice lifted up his head. A smirk developed on his face as he yanked the clothes from Arthur's body exposing his sweet flesh; he didn't care—cared from nothing beyond his wanting, and its satisfaction.

Dipping his head, Francis set his mouth to Arthur nipple, suckled—and Arthur screamed. Felt his body arch as Francis suckled fiercely again, felt his hands on his body, hard and demanding. No gentle lover, no soothing caresses, nothing but heat, possessive passion and a driving, urgent need

A need that drove him, too, that him gasping, fingers sunk in Francis hair, blindly holding him to him as he feasted. Ravenously. Cool air caressing his legs, then his thighs, told him he'd lost his pants. For an instant, he wondered if Francis would take him there, against the door—then Francis tweaked his nipple and he stopped thinking. His touch was knowing, blatantly possessive. He opened him, thrust one, then two fingers in him, worked them deep. Then his thumb found that most sensitive part of him and rubbed his thumb across it over and over, matching his suckling with his thrusting.

Arthur shattered, fractured—so fast, so intensely he saw rapture like a starburst on the inside of his lips. Francis hands and lips left him—too soon, too quickly. Arthur felt empty now, aching—boneless, vanquished…

The he was gasping falling; Francis swept him up in his arms and carried him to the bed. Laid him upon it and ruthlessly stripped any remaining clothing. Stripped naked. When he wore not a stich to hide him from his gaze, black as night, burning with desire, Francis tumbled the heaped pillows, rearranged them, then lifted Arthur and laid him among them. A sacrifice waiting, displayed.

Arthur had no will to move, no strength even to lift a hand. He stalked back to the end of the bed, stood facing it, his gaze locked with Arthurs, traveling his body as if cataloging every last inch, every soft curl as his stripped of his shirt, flung it aside then set his fingers to his waistband. His face was graven, the features and planes so familiar, yet not. They'd been lovers before, yet it had never been like this—he'd never been able to taste desire, never been able to sense it like a shimmering aura around him, around Francis. Something heightened, something more—some meshing of physical and ephemeral needs that was both frightening and compelling had happened between them. Francis kicked off his shoes; in a single smooth movement he removed his trouser, dropping them as he straightened. As he stood there, naked, rampantly aroused and intent, before Arthur.

He knelt on the bed, his knee between Arthurs feet. The muscles in his arms and shoulders shifted, bunching like rock, flexing like steel. His gaze, locked on the curls at the base of Arthurs stomach.

"Open your legs".

A deep, gravelly, command. An outright order. Arthur complied, not quickly but without hesitation; he'd clenched his fist—hard—to stop himself from reaching from Arthur. He remembered the feel of his hands on his breasts, their driving urgency, the sheer strength in his fingers. He knew, as his gaze fell into the black of his and lifted his thighs apart, that he didn't want to lay hands on him—not yet.

Not while this sheer, ungovernable force rode him. The force that, as soon as his thighs were wide enough apart had him on the bed, poised over him, arms braced, hands sunk in the pillows on either side of his shoulders. He settled his hips between Arthurs thighs, ruthlessly forcing them further apart, wedging them wide.

His eyes locked with Arthurs as the blunt head of his erection probed the slick flesh. Then he found his entrance; Arthur caught his breath, trapped deep in the Blue fires of his eyes as he entered him—with one powerful, savagely complete thrust—one that stretched him and filled him, that had him arching, wildly gasping, hands gripped on his forearms, nails sinking deep, his head pressing back into the soft pillows as he relentlessly pressed in.

Until Francis possessed him. Until he filled him so completely his every sense was filled with Francis.

Then he rode Arthur.

Arthur gasped, writhed beneath him, driven ruthlessly relentlessly on. Hands spread on Francis back, feeling the unforgiving flexing of the powerful muscles bracketing his spine, Arthur clung blindly and surrendered. Francis arranging of the pillows had had a purpose; they cushioned him, cradled him, tilted his hips and supported him so Francis could drive into his body harder, faster—deeper.

So his body could withstand his possession, could ride the force and the fury as he took him. as he loved him. It came to Arthur in a blinding flash as he watched Francis face, passion blank, eyes closed his every sense focused on their joining. The sheer force of his thrusts took him deeper yet; Arthur's body gave and he gasped, arched beneath him. He gasped, too, took every inch Arthur offered, hung his head. Bent enough to take the tight peak of his nipple, flagrantly offered as his spine bowed, as his body supported the pillows, while Francis feasted and plundered Arthurs.

Fiery energy spread insidiously through him, down every vein, into his core, he felt it coalesce. Felt it built and swell with every deep rocking thrust, with every lightning like flash of sensation he sent spearing through him. Until he ignited, burned. Exploded. Until he lost every sense in the mindlessness of heat and wonder.

This time, Francis didn't leave him, but with guttural command. Urged him on. Forced him on, begging him to stay with him. And Arthur did. Held to him, clung, senses wide-open, his body all Francis. Caressed him. eased him, offered himself to him. And Francis took, again, and again, and again—

A crash from outside echoed their gasps. Beyond the windows, the wind lashed the trees and lightning cleaved the sky. Inside the rhythm of their loving escalated, step by relentless step. Energy sparked through them, alive in shards of sensation, shimmering emotion, the brilliant colors of passion and desire. It grew until it was almost real—an incandescent glory. Intensifying, drawing in, it tightened about them—tightened their nerves, locked every muscle.

They imploded.

And they flew high on a crest of sensation that shattered every perception. High to a plane where emotions formed the sea and sensation the land. Where feelings were the winds and peaks grew from delight. And the sun was pure glory, exquisite, and unshielded, an orb of power so intense it fused their hearts. And left them beating as one

_Well I hope it wasn't a killer and I hope you enjoyed!XD


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